Given how much better Chinese children do at school than English children, should we adopt a more Chinese attitude to parenting?

I debated the psychologist Oliver James in The Observer yesterday about Amy Chua's controversial new parenting manual, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, in which she argues that Chinese mothers have a lot to teach their Western counterparts. I haven't read the book yet, but I read her essay in the Wall St Journal and much of what she says strikes a deep chord with me. As a father of four, I've read quite a few parenting manuals – even attended a parenting course, God help me – and I share Chua's disdain for the touchy-feely, wishy-washy philosophy that underpins the Anglo-American approach to raising children. Positive re-inforcement seems to be the norm, with the emphasis on buttressing children's self-esteem. The worst sin you can commit is to be "judgmental". Rather than browbeat our children into following in our footsteps, we're told to let them discover what they're good at – follow their bliss. There's a vague sense that too much discipline and regimentation will stifle their "creativity", as if they're all budding little Picassos – and, indeed, every doodle they produce has to be pinned to the fridge door. The ideal parent is not a role model or a moral guidance counsellor, but a kind of servant – a combination of valet, driver and cook. It's part of the all-pervasive moral relativism that permeates Western society – a reluctance to assert that any one conception of the good is better than another. Many of these ideas have drifted into our schools with a catastrophic effect on standards. Children who, with a little bit of chivvying, could be learning a foreign language are frittering away their time on Media Studies. (Ever met an employee of a Fleet Street newspaper or the BBC who had a GCSE in Media Studies? Me neither.)

Chua contrasts this attitude with that of the typical Chinese mother – a fearsome creature, by her account. In her Wall St Journal essay she describes a fight she had with Jed Rubenfeld, her Jewish American husband, over how hard to push her seven-year-old daughter. Lulu was having trouble mastering 'The Little White Donkey' by Jacques Ibert and Amy wouldn't let her give up. (You can see a YouTube clip of a 10-year-old playing it here.) She hauls her daughter's dolls house to the car and tells her she'll donate it to the Salvation Army if she doesn't nail it that evening. She threatens her with no Christmas presents. She tells her to stop being lazy, cowardly, pathetic. Typical Chinese parenting techniques, according to Chua.

Jed is shocked and takes his wife aside. Stop riding her so hard, he says. Maybe the piece is just too difficult for her. Rubbish, says Amy. Her sister could play it at her age. Why can't she? They're different people, says Jed.

"Oh no, not this," I said, rolling my eyes. "Everyone is special in their special own way," I mimicked sarcastically. "Even losers are special in their own special way. Well don't worry, you don't have to lift a finger. I'm willing to put in as long as it takes, and I'm happy to be the one hated. And you can be the one they adore because you make them pancakes and take them to Yankees games."

In the end her daughter learns how to play it. The problem with Western parents, Amy says, is that we assume our children are more fragile than they really are. We think they'll be permanently damaged if we push them too hard or express our disappointment. Chinese mothers, by contrast, will excoriate, punish and shame their children if they don't get perfect grades.

A lot of this is exaggerated for dramatic effect – Chua's a gifted writer and certainly knows how to whip up a controversy. But I like Chua's lack of ambivalence about her own values. She doesn't have any truck with the trendy notion that children should be allowed to flower in their own way. Her Wall St Journal essay starts with a list of things her daughters aren't allowed to do:

• attend a sleepover

• have a playdate

• be in a school play

• complain about not being in a school play

• watch TV or play computer games

• choose their own extracurricular activities

• get any grade less than an A

• not be the No. 1 student in every subject except gym and drama

• play any instrument other than the piano or violin

• not play the piano or violin.

On the face of it, the most powerful argument for this style of parenting is economic. Little wonder that Shanghai is top of the PISA international league tables when it comes to educational attainment, while Britain and America continue to slide. If we're going to compete with the world's newest superpower we're going to have to stop molly-coddling our children and start cracking the whip. Our attitude to parenting seems to be rooted in an earlier, more affluent era in which our children could do badly in school and still live comfortable lives. Today, if they drift rather than graft, they'll end up selling the Big Issue and Britain will end up on the scrap heap.

No doubt many parents will scorn this argument, particularly those of a liberal persuasion, believing you can't reduce parenting to whatever maximises GDP. But there's a better reason for taking Chau's advice seriously. She claims that Chinese children make for more robust adults, having been galvanised in the hot-house of the Chinese Parenting Academy. As I said in The Observer, The problem with constantly boosting our children's self-esteem, telling them they're budding little geniuses when they manage to add 2 + 2, is that we're setting them up for a fall. We send them out into the world with an inflated idea of their own abilities and the moment they come face to face with a tough competitor – one of Amy Chua's daughters, for instance – they collapse. Bye-bye self-esteem. Hello depression.

Needless to say, Oliver James disputed this, claiming that children of overbearing, perfectionist parents are more likely to suffer from mental health problems. But if that's true you'd expect China to be a nation of basket cases and, as James admits, few Chinese people suffer from depression. Not only do Chinese schoolchildren outperform ours, they're happier, too – and partly because they're getting such good grades.

There's something refreshing about Chua's approach to parenting – she breezily admits to thinking things that Western parents would never voice out loud. In response to the happiness argument, she says she doesn't believe children who never achieve anything can ever be truly happy. After all, you only start to enjoy something – like playing the piano – once you achieve a certain level of mastery. Who enjoys something they're not good at? And the only way to get good at something is to practice – in some cases, all night.

I agree with much of this and yet I could never treat my own seven-year-old daughter in the way Chua treated hers over 'The Little White Donkey'. Too much of a wimp? Maybe – and perhaps my daughter will suffer in the longterm as a consequence.